Tag Archives: war

L’esercizio della responsabilità

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Storicamente, i periodi di crisi socio-politiche sono caratterizzati da grandi movimenti popolari di protesta e rivendicazione dei diritti. L’enfasi sulla dimensione di rivendicazione da una parte implica la presupposizione di un potere che ascolta, dall’altra sposta la necessità dell’azione al di là di chi protesta.
E’ forse anche per questo che un documento tanto importante quanto la Carta Universale dei Doveri e delle Responsabilità è praticamente sconosciuta. A seguito di un processo consultivo internazionale che ha coinvolto esperti, politici (fra cui Leoluca Orlando), intellettuali (inclusi Dario Fo e Gianni Vattimo) e rappresentanti di comunità, la Carta è stata redatta a Valencia nel 1998 in occasione del 50º anniversario della Dichiarazione Universale dei Diritti Umani sotto il patrocinio dell’UNESCO. La Carta è una versione speculare della Dichiarazione dei Diritti Umani e funziona quasi da contrappunto: a tutto ciò di cui abbiamo diritto, fa da contraltare quello che dobbiamo fare per renderlo possibile.
Premessa fondamentale del documento è la distinzione di piani fra doveri e responsabilità. I primi hanno un valore di impegno morale, che si traduce in vincolo legale attraverso l’assunzione di responsabilità: se non espletiamo a pieno i nostri doveri per garantire i diritti di tutti, siamo perseguibili penalmente.
In tempi come questi, per esempio, è importante ricordare che al sacrosanto diritto al libero movimento fa eco il dovere all’ospitalità – in particolare verso chi è dislocato a causa di guerre o carestie – nell’ottica di un’equità non solo formale, ma sostanziale.
L’articolo 38 della Carta si concentra su doveri e responsabilità tanto degli individui che delle comunità di creare le condizioni e sostenere le arti e la produzione culturale.
Lavoro da oltre dieci anni nella promozione culturale, rivitalizzazione del patrimonio immateriale e sostegno agli artisti in paesi in conflitto. Fra le ragioni che muovono il mio agire c’è la consapevolezza di una profonda interconnessione tra urgenza, diritto e dovere alla libera espressione. Alla luce della Carta, la mia attività professionale è la risposta a una chiamata all’assunzione di responsabilità per cui ciò che facciamo è parte di una tutela dei diritti tanto individuali che collettivi.

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Who cleans the city?

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After the IS attack at a demonstration in Kabul on the 23rd of July 2016, I wrote a tribute to those who clean the city afterwords and allow us to move on with dignity. We all thought that it was worst attack since 2001 – until yesterday when Kabul was hit again. The figures of the attack are mind-numbing: 93 killed and more than 450 injured.

Today, sadly, my thoughts go again to those who clean the city.

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The day after is always difficult.

Yesterday’s suicide attack has been the worst in Kabul since 2001–the victims were all civilians, all young: a terrible blast for the already fragile heart of the city.

With the sombering and heavy attitude that characterizes a national day of mourning, the city this morning woke up and went on with its business as usual. Kabul is a strong city, a city that reacts and doesn’t break. Her formidable resilience is one of the first things one discovers and falls in love with upon moving here. Life goes on no matter what, you roll your sleeves and move on–this is a way of looking at the world that is a profound source of inspiration.

This morning I woke up with a thought that I still can’t get out of my head: I keep thinking about those who clean the city, about those who work before day breaks to remove all the traces of a horror such as yesterday’s.

It is well known that Kabul’s strength is in her ability to start afresh every time, but we don’t know anything about those who make it possible, about those who scrub the blood off the asphalt, who collect what remains, who hose away all that has to disappear.

We probably owe them the fact that we can move on, to these silent restorers of normalcy; to those who, in Kabul or Baghdad or Srinagar, have the task of disguising smells, of remodelling the facade of the ordinary, of hiding the traces of traumas that are too difficult even to imagine.

I don’t know who they are, I don’t know their faces and I wonder what they may think – a prayer or a curse–while they clean up surrounded by the night. I thought, however, it was important to write about them – to exorcise that obsessive thought, but also to pay my respects to those who, probably without knowing, allow us to look ahead into the future.

 

Important questions

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A while ago, a friend of my mother’s asked me if one of her 8th grade students could send me some questions for a research she was preparing for her final exam. I said yes without giving it too much thinking. A few weeks later I received the questions and realised how much responsibility was attached to my answers. I was faced with the difficult task of balancing honesty and simplicity, of keeping my cynicism at bay while articulating my answers so as to give full value to the sensitivity of Sara’s questions. It gives me hope to know that, in the general confusion of these blind times, a thirteen year old girl would like to know what is going on in different corners of the world. As our “interview” has been for me a very important occasion to stop and reflect, I thought it would be nice to share it.

Sara: What are the daily life conditions of the civilian population?

Francesca: In the past year, things in Afghanistan have deteriorated. Even though the war here has almost been forgotten, its impact on the civilian population is still enormous. UNAMA, the UN Agency that is specifically dedicated to Afghanistan, recently published a report stating that 2016 has been one of the worst years for civilians since the beginning of the war. Because of the on-going violence, in the last twelve months 650 thousand people have been forced to leave their homes and head to nearby cities or villages or ended up in refugee camps in order to find a safer place to live. Imagine: the population of fifteen cities like Avezzano [our home town] forced to flee: the numbers are immense and mind boggling. Moreover, this past winter, things have been even more difficult as there has been a lot of snow and avalanches. Many remote areas of the country have been almost impossible to reach because of the conflict hence making the living conditions of civilians – especially the poorest ones – really dire.

Sara: Are there still terrorist attacks? How can people protect themselves?

Francesca: The only way we can protect ourselves from war is to continue living our daily lives without being overpowered by fear. Keep going and keep working for a better tomorrow: I don’t think there is any other possible protection.

Sara: Can you communicate easily with local people? Do you think you manage to understand their needs and hardships?

Francesca: I work with art and cultural production. We can say that my work – in Kabul as everywhere else in the world – is dedicated to the needs of the mind and the spirit more than to the needs of the body. I have spent the past four and a half years in Afghanistan concentrating on this kind of “care”. I have learnt a lot in these years and I keep learning something new every day. In order to be able to understand – to use your words – people’s needs and hardships the important thing is to listen, to be open to the reality of a new place without the presumption of having all the answers and all the solutions before even having landed. Such a blind attitude will take you nowhere and will bring no good to you or to anyone around you.

Sara: How many and which organisations are active in the country and for which purposes?

Francesca: Afghanistan is full of local and international organisations active in various fields: from education to the defence of the environment, from building roads to vaccination. Some organisations do very good work, they are serious and committed; others take advantage of the many existing needs and of the fact that the international community continues to send a lot of money. It is really a mixed bag. If I have to give you an example of excellence, I have no doubt: emergency is at the top of the list. They build hospitals for the victims of war; they work with bravery, dedication and humility. We really have a lot to learn from people like them.

Sara: What is the security situation for you volunteers?

Francesca: It is important to understand that the majority of those who work in Afghanistan are not volunteers, but paid (sometimes overpaid) professionals who do their job in a difficult context. Taking care of the foreigners’ security is a very complex and incredibly costly business made of armoured cars, bodyguards and so-called security protocols – that is rules and practices of behaviour in a situation of risk. There are many nuances and your questions opens a complicated reflection on how to behave as well as on the “why” of certain choices.

Sara: Is there still a possibility to improve the political situation?

Francesca: The possibility of improvement is something we should never ever doubt – else we lose hope for the future. The real challenge is to understand the path for this improvement and the required ways and timelines. This is a shared responsibility between governments and civil society. For those like you, who are far away, it is important to keep remembering these wars even though they are no longer prominent in the news.

In search for words

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Photo by Kevin Frayer / AP

Yesterday Afghanistan has lived through yet another bloody day: three attacks in three cities (Lashkar Gah, Kabul, Kandahar) and tens of casualties. We had barely managed to process the horror of one event that another followed. It has been a difficult time and our thoughts were once again with those whose only fault is to work in the wrong place.

At a personal level, days like these add doubts to the emotional tiredness of being an indirect witness of a war that never seems to end. On days like yesterday it seems more difficult to give myself a convincing answer on why not only is it important but also necessary to work on art and cultural production in a country like Afghanistan in a moment like this. The uneasiness that this hesitation generates is difficult to manage both for myself and for those who are close to me. Silence in these circumstances is never productive neither is indulging in the malaise. The frustration, however, is there and needs an outlet.

Yet, I’ll never cease to be surprised by the fact that answers always come when you least expected them.

I met an old friend, K., who told me a story. Last November I organised a training for 120 artists from various disciplines coming from different corners of Afghanistan. K. took part in the training and since then he has been telling me what a unique opportunity of exchange and encounters it was. I really don’t like flattery so more than once I told him that he was exaggerating and was being so kind only because we are friends.

Sipping his tea, he told me that, without me knowing, one of the artists participating in the seminar was illiterate: a musician who can play wonderfully, but cannot read and write. The participatory and inclusive method that characterised the seminar, as well as the fact that it was conducted in local languages rather than in English as it is generally the case, allowed him to take part in it and draw from it great motivation.

In order not to waste the possible fruits that could come from this achievement, K. told that he made a deal with the musician since for the first time his work could be promoted and supported irrespective of the fact that he cannot read and write.

The deal is this: K. offered to help the musician to fill the form to apply for the grants that my project offers on the condition that he would enrol in an evening school.

The musician, whose name I don’t know, has started attending a literacy class at the beginning of January.

Moments of hope like this one give me strength and are an unexpected gift that provides me with the words to give an answer, however temporary, to my doubts and questions.

Alla ricerca delle parole

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Photo by Kevin Frayer / AP

Ieri l’Afghanistan ha vissuto l’ennesima giornata di sangue: tre attentati in tre città (Lashkar Gah, Kabul, Kandahar) e decine di morti. Nel corso della giornata facevamo appena in tempo ad assimilare l’orrore di una notizia che ne seguiva un’altra: sono state ore pesanti, col pensiero ancora una volta a coloro che hanno come unica colpa quella di lavorare nel posto sbagliato.

A livello personale giornate così aggiungono il dubbio alla fatica emotiva di essere testimone indiretto di una guerra che sembra non avere mai fine. In giorni come quello di ieri sembra più difficile darmi delle risposte convincenti sul perché sia non solo importante, ma anche necessario, occuparsi di arte e di produzione culturale in un momento come questo in un paese come l’Afghanistan. Il malumore che genera questo affanno diventa difficile da gestire sia per me che per chi mi sta intorno. Il silenzio in questi casi non é mai produttivo, così come non lo é indulgere nel proprio malessere. La frustrazione resta e cerca vie d’uscita.

Eppure, non finirò mai di sorprendermi del fatto che le risposte arrivino sempre quando uno meno se le aspetta.

Ho incontrato un vecchio amico, K., e mi ha raccontato una storia. A novembre scorso ho organizzato un seminario di formazione per 120 artisti di varie discipline, provenienti da ogni angolo dell’Afghanistan. K. ha partecipato al seminario e da allora continua a dire quanto sia stata un’occasione unica di incontro e di scambio. In generale non amo le lusinghe e quindi più di una volta gli ho detto che stava esagerando ed era così generoso solo perché siamo amici. Sorseggiando la sua tazza di te mi ha raccontato che, senza che io lo sapessi, uno degli artisti partecipanti al seminario era analfabeta: un musicista che suona meravigliosamente, ma che non sa né leggere e né scrivere. Il metodo partecipativo e interattivo che ha caratterizzato il seminario, e l’uso delle lingue locali invece dell’inglese come solitamente accade, ha consentito al musicista di partecipare e di trarne grande motivazione.

Per non perdere i possibili frutti di questa conquista, K. mi ha detto che alla fine del seminario lui e il musicista hanno fatto un patto visto che concretamente esiste per la prima volta la possibilità che il suo lavoro venga promosso e sostenuto nonostante non sappia né leggere e né scrivere. Il patto é questo: K. si é offerto di aiutare il musicista a fare domanda alla fine dell’anno per accedere ai finanziamenti previsti dal mio progetto a condizione che cominciasse ad andare alle scuole serali.

Il musicista, di cui non conosco il nome, ha iniziato infatti il corso di alfabetizzazione per adulti all’inizio di gennaio.

Sprazzi di speranza come questo sono un’ancora di salvezza e un dono inaspettato che offre le parole per dare una risposta, almeno temporanea, alle mie domande.